


caving and crumbling on your hips, your lips, you're mine

by starraya



Series: the art of learning your lover [3]
Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fix-It, Sexual Content, Strong Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 07:42:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7749136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starraya/pseuds/starraya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This night is all theirs. They can spend it however they wish. Here and now. That knowledge has the power to intoxicate Bridget more than any glass of wine. It sends a warmth shooting down her spine.</p>
<p>4x01 rewrite.</p>
            </blockquote>





	caving and crumbling on your hips, your lips, you're mine

**Author's Note:**

> So I don't normally like writing out scenes that have happened in the show, unless for an AU where you can properly mess with the story, but I needed to write this. The kitchen scene from 4x01 with no mention of any cat. And some actual kissing!
> 
> Title taken from 'Cliff's Edge' by Hayley Kiyoko.

Bridget has not seen Franky for several days; recently Bridget has been staying late at work, sometimes chatting with Vera over the new initiatives she is implementing, helping to allay Vera's fears about the onslaught of public speaking that comes with being Governor and the impending integration of H-block back into the prison. Franky has been busy searching for a job and keeping up to date with her parole officer. So when Bridget arrives home late from work, kicking off her heels, before heading to the fridge for the jug of water she keeps in there - only sensing something first and closing the door before she can retrieve anything - Franky's appearance behind the fridge is both a startling one and a welcome one.

  
"Regretting giving me a key yet, Gidge?" Franky grins as she watches the shock subside from Bridget's features and she hears the sharp intake of breath the psychologist took dissipate back into the air between them.

  
"Not at all," Bridget replies, smiling, "I was just thinking what a clever idea it was on my part."

  
"Yeah?"

  
"Yeah." Jokingly, Bridget gestures to their surroundings, "so you can make a start on the housework before I get home."

  
"No, so I can do this." Franky's smile widens, wickedly. She pushes Bridget against the fridge and, moving to stand close behind her, covers Bridget's body with her own, "whenever," - Franky's hands dart to Bridget's waist, pull out her shirt and slither up the blonde's lithe little body - "I" - Franky's hands slide up over the smooth skin she has traced many a time before, with her fingers, her tongue, teasingly, slowly, sometimes flicking her eyes up to watch Bridget watching her through hooded lust-glazed eyes - "Want."

 

Franky pushes Bridget's bra up slightly, her fingers just skimming the underside of the Bridget's breasts, before cupping them through the white material. Bridget groans. Franky's movements have lifted the fabric of Bridget's shirt so that the surface of the fridge is cold against the bare skin of her stomach, a wonderful contrast to Franky's hot, quick breathes on her neck. All to quickly Franky pulls back and flips Bridget back around so that they are facing each other. Franky tears open the first few buttons of Bridget's shirt, her hands drift fleetingly over Bridget's stomach, before falling away. Purposefully putting distance between them, Franky steps back.

 

Franky slides her cardigan off her shoulders, throws it in the direction of the sofa. She wears a T-shirt underneath it and Bridget's eyes roam over the her strong, heavily inked arms. Bridget feels her heart flutter as her own desire increases. Franky Doyle is standing in her kitchen, as she has done many a time before over the past months they have spent together, here in this house, learning about each other, making love - and Bridget has long since discovered and explored every inch of Franky's skin, every curve, every colour, every scar - but there is still something pretty fucking glorious about the fact that Franky is right in front of her and that this night is all theirs. They can spend it however they wish. _Here and now._ That knowledge has the power to intoxicate Bridget more than any glass of wine. It sends a warmth shooting down her spine.

 

After Franky asks Bridget questions about her day, and Bridget answers faithfully, albeit distractedly, Bridget walks towards her and closes the distance between them so that they bodies are almost flush against each others. Leaning in closer and closer to Franky's lips only for Franky to draw her head back, laughing, Bridget adds, in a high, playful tone, whilst wrapping her arms around Franky's neck and pulling her closer, that she heard Franky on the radio today.

 

"All that talk of chick on chick turned you on, didn't it?"

 

Bridget's pencil skirt, courtesy of the pair's movements and Franky's hands, has been sliding up second by second and now Franky's fingertips dance beneath the hem at the back of Bridget's thighs. In answer to Franky's question, Bridget loosens her arms around Franky's neck and draws back. She bits her lower lip as her fingers skim over Franky's chin, then press a little harder against the other woman's jawline as her thumb brushes Franky's parted lips, just like Franky had done all those months ago in the library when her eyes had shone in the shadows with concern, then curiosity, then mischief before darkening with something else entirely. Bridget tilts Franky's head forward and up, so that Bridget can capture Franky's mouth, gently at first, then not so. Releasing Franky's chin, Bridget's hands thread through Franky's hair and Franky returns the favour by running her hands through Bridget's hair, making her hair tumble from its neat arrangement. Before Bridget can say anything, Franky's tongue is at Bridget's lips, hungrily seeking entry which Bridget grants. As their kisses grow more and more fervent strands of Bridget's air fall in front of her face and Franky pushes them back. Later, Bridget thinks, she will get Franky back and make her pay.

 

_Or now._

 

Clumsily the two manage to make their way to the dining table without falling over. Bridget makes sure, however, that when they reach it, it is her body that traps Franky's against the table. Swiftly, she takes Franky's hands in hers, locking their fingers together and pinning their joined hands down by the table. Bridget kisses Franky slowly as she slides a thigh in between Franky's legs. Unthinkingly, Bridget lets go of Franky's hands so that she can slip her fingers underneath Franky's T-shirt and begin to pull it off her, but Franky takes the opportunity to deftly flip them around. Her hands finding the back of Bridget's thighs again, Franky lifts her up on the table.

 

Feeling Bridget's thighs close tightly around her waist, Franky tugs Bridget's shirt over her head. Franky trails kisses down Bridget's neck, latching on to her pulse point and Bridget angles her head back to give Franky more access. Franky draws back with a wry smile, her hands running down Bridget's back to her waist then to Bridget's knees as she lies back, before slipping up her thighs, underneath her skirt. Bridget raises her hips slightly off the table as Franky slides off her underwear. Shortly after, Franky's lips ghost Bridget's inner thigh and Bridget's laughs dip to moans that rise to pleas of the other woman's name.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are much loved.


End file.
